Month: July 2019

If you want to show in Texas, you learn pretty quickly how to deal with long trailer rides. It’s 2 hours each way just to get to a lesson, 2-6 hours each way for a recognized event, and then of course if you want to show out of state, you have to drive between 6 and 10 hours in any direction just to cross the state line. There’s nothing wrong with sticking to the shows in our area, which are great, but we’ve only got 4 venues in the entire giant state of Texas that put on events. Sometimes you just find yourself needing a change of scenery.

Our summer pilgrimages have become a bit of a thing by now. I don’t think anyone will ever succeed in talking me into going to Chatt in July ever again, but Coconino hasn’t let me down yet. It’s fun, it’s pretty, and the weather is amazing.

Of course, to get anywhere worth going, especially in the summer, we’ve got to drive at least 14 hours.

The hardest part of these long trips is getting the horses there in the best possible condition, feeling good and ready to show. This year’s trip is the first time that I felt like I’ve finally really and truly dialed in the best way for Henry to travel long distances like this. Before I dive into what we did this time, what’s worked for me, and what hasn’t worked for me, I have to put up a big disclaimer: every horse is different. What works for some doesn’t work for others. Some like riding a certain way, some need special care, some get more stressed than others.

Here are the main points I’ve learned when it comes to me and my horse:

Start gut support several days in advance. Because nobody needs ulcers, and travel is just about the biggest stressor there is for a horse. I’ve done omeprazole paste in the past, but this time I tried the ranitidine powder that my vet has compounded. We started it before we left and he stayed on it for the entire trip, it was easy to administer, and it seemed to work great.

Break up the trip. We did this our first time going to Coconino too, because 16 hours (which really ends up being 17+ with a trailer and gas stops) driving straight through is awful. I know because that’s what we did coming back from Chatt last year, and I will never ever ever do it again. My horse was miserable and so was I, both mentally and physically. Somewhere around 8-9 hours per day is the point at which we both seem ready to be done driving.

Take the weather into account. Most of the drive to Coco was HOT. The trailer has good ventilation and fans (Henry finds those to be vital in the summer), but still… roasting them all day isn’t ideal. Both mornings we left at the crack of dawn so that we could get most of the driving out of the way before the hottest part of the day.

Keep them moving. Some people like to stop every 4 or so hours and walk the horses around for a while, but that’s not always possible or safe, especially with young horses and remote highways. Since that wasn’t an option, we took advantage of arriving at our layover location early, let the boys settle in for a few hours, then got on to take them for a long walk. They got to stretch, clear their lungs and noses, and get everything circulating again. It really seemed to help, Henry arrived feeling REALLY good in his body.

Control the dust. Maybe I’m hyper-sensitive about this after spending years traveling with Halo, who was very prone to pneumonia, but I always soak the hay and wet the bedding to keep the dust down in the trailer. Shipping fever is one of the bigger risks with a long haul, so the more you can do to keep their airways clear, the better. If you can, pick the poop out of the trailer at your stops, and check to make sure the horses are getting good ventilation. Another big part of it is making sure that they’re able to lower their heads enough to clear their airways as needed.

Know your horse’s preferences for comfort. I learned last year that my horse does not haul very well over long distances in a slant load. He was incredibly sore on his bracing leg for days after we got home. Some horses are the opposite and prefer to lean their bodies against a slant wall. You might not have an option, but knowing how your horse rides in that particular trailer will help you tailor the trip accordingly.

Be prepared. This includes everything from making sure your truck and trailer maintenance is up to date, to having spare tires, to carrying a first aid kit, to ensuring that you have the correct paperwork for travel. If you’re worried about truck or trailer problems, a USRider membership might not be a bad idea either. On this trip, for the first time ever for me, we got stopped in New Mexico and asked to show our horses’ health paperwork. Make sure you keep your coggins and health certificate on hand. I had forgotten to print hard copies and had to pull mine up on my phone, which was fine, but hard copies are easier.

Make a plan. In addition to finding a good layover facility, it’s not a bad idea to figure out if there’s a feed store near your destination(s) that carries the same feed and type of hay that you typically use, as well as basic supplies. You don’t want to change anything with your horse’s diet while you’re traveling, but if you can get the same feed there, sometimes it’s a lot easier to just buy it upon arrival rather than haul weeks worth of stuff along with you.

Provide plenty of water. I always pack water from home, since the horses are more likely to drink water that smells and tastes familiar to them. In the past we’ve offered water at stops (and Henry almost never drank), but this time we tried something a little different and hung buckets from the center dividers and kept them about 1/2 to 3/4 full. They didn’t slosh, and the horses actually DRANK! The last day especially, when we were getting into the hotter areas, both horses drank a full bucket during the drive. If you have a horse that is a particularly bad drinker you can add water to their regular grain ration to help get a little bit more hydration.

Use each stop to assess, and make changes as need. Every time we stopped for gas I opened the escape doors, checked each horse for injuries, made sure they weren’t too hot, gave them both a cookie, checked water, etc. The stops are a good time to see how the horses are traveling, see how the ventilation is, and open more doors/windows if needed. If you have trailer cameras (my favorite invention ever and worth every penny) it’s pretty easy to keep an eye on all of those things constantly, but if you don’t, the stops are really important and your best opportunity to get ahead of any potential trouble.

Really though, I think the most important thing is knowing your horse. Know how they prefer to ride, know what they might need help with, and be ready to provide them with extra support if needed. With the right kind of management and good plan, it’s entirely possible to make long trips without putting a lot of stress or wear and tear on your horse. This trip Henry traveled the best he ever has, and arrived each day feeling super fresh, happy, and loose.

I’m sure there’s more I forgot to mention here, but these are the main takeaways I had, anyway. Making such a long trip can be really daunting, but with a little bit of thought, preparation, and good management, it can go just fine.

What are your favorite tips and tricks for hauling long distances? Or, if you haven’t made one before, what are your biggest concerns and hesitations?

 

My poor sweet barn owner, the vet’s wife, is really one of the kindest people I’ve come across in the horse world. She always wants to help, and just wants us/our horses to be happy. However, I’m pretty sure that she’s relatively horrified by how “feral” looking my horses can sometimes look, compared to how she’s used to show horses looking.

I don’t clip whiskers of any kind, eyes or noses, and I don’t clip ears. Henry gets body clipped as needed, and I trimmed those long goat hairs off the bottom of Presto’s head last winter, but if you’re used to slick hairless show horses, mine are not it. They routinely have bite marks and their manes are thick because I don’t pull them (I do keep them trimmed short with scissors, but I don’t pull). I do chop off any fetlock hair that dares try to grow, because I can’t stand it, but otherwise… they are certainly not the sleekest looking animals. I like them a little more natural. They’re happy. They’re at an appropriate weight for their jobs and well-muscled and fit and sound… that’s what I care about most. I’m pretty sure it made her REALLY happy when I dyed Henry’s tail before Coconino, even though I refused to clip his nose or ears. At least I’m not a total street rat, right?

The barn owner grew up in breed show land, and now shows minis. And if you know those folks, they REALLY go all out on the turnout. No whiskers, clipped ears, coat clipped almost bald around the eyes, slather on some baby oil, the whole 9 yards. What you definitely won’t ever see is a horse showing up covered in bite marks.

But, um… have y’all met Presto? If he has more fur than bites, I consider it a win. Most of them are his own fault too, because he stands there and lets himself be bitten without ever running away. I mean really, what an idiot. But he does always look like a walking punching bag. I gave up on that a long time ago, because he’s a baby horse and that’s life. Bite marks on that kid don’t faze me at all.

The barn owner was relatively horrified last month when I said that I was taking Presto to an in-hand show. He was a bit ribby (I mean jesus, y’all should see how much that thing eats but he just grows UP, not out) and huge chunks of him were missing. She was too polite to express her disapproval, but you could see the panic in her eyes. When we came home with a qualifying score and I told her he was going to Championships in September, she made it her personal mission to make him “beautiful” by then. I snickered a little at that, because I’m a bad person, but bless her, if she wants to try to clean up that giramoose I’ll absolutely let her. As long as it doesn’t involve removing ear or nose hair.

So he’s been eyeball deep in hay pretty much 24/7, and she upped his fat intake. And to her credit, he has definitely filled out a bit. Of course, he started filling out around this time last year too, once he got past his big spring growth spurt. Still, we’ll give her the credit. The thing that has amused me most is her quest to rid him of bite marks. She is religious about putting ointment on them, but every day he just comes in with more.

When we got back from Coconino he was actually pretty well healed up. He’d just been going out with the other 2yo’s, and they’re like half his size so they don’t really play that hard. One night back with Henry and Dobby and he had so many bite marks the next day, I couldn’t even count them. It’s not like they pick on him really, either… Presto picks on THEM and then stands there and takes their retaliatory wrath.

So she’s been putting her special ointment on all these marks, to the point where by the time she’s done, he legit looks like an appaloosa. It is endlessly amusing to me, because every day he seems to get more and more spotted. It’s driving her nuts, and it’s making me laugh. She has threatened to remove him from Dobby and Henry’s company if they can’t keep their mouths to themselves. I, of course, don’t give a crap if he goes to Championships covered in bite marks. He’s a 2yo, he goes outside, he plays with other horses… it’s just not a big deal in our world. He’s sorta dark, they kinda blend in. And in our world they WANT the FEH horses to look like they live in a pasture, so it’s a far cry from the perfection required at breed shows.

But hey… if he keeps getting dozens of spots of ointment every day, maybe we could broaden our horizons and look into the appaloosa shows. Are giraffaloosas a thing?

The quest I’ve been on, over the past year or so, to improve my mental game and mindset has probably been one of the most life-changing things I’ve ever done. If I was the same person I was 2 or 3 years ago and Coconino had ended the way it did, the old me would have probably had a meltdown. There would have been tears for sure, and I probably would have spent the whole drive home stewing in self-doubt and negativity. I definitely would have felt like the whole trip was a waste of time and money, at the very least. But honestly? I felt none of those things. What’s changed the most? My perspective. And encompassed in that are two things in particular: understanding that all of this is a process, and approaching everything from a position of gratitude.

I used to think of horse shows as the end goal. Every single one was my own personal Beginner Novice or Novice or Training Olympics. But, as I’ve come to learn, that’s a totally backward way of looking at it. Why do I really ride and show? To be a better rider, to have fun with my horse, and to grow my horse into the best possible version of himself that I’m capable of producing. It’s 100% possible to do all of those things, and dare I say it’s actually MORE possible to do those things, when you surrender the idea of winning.

These days I look at each show as a progress report. What did we do well? What did we learn? How did my horse feel? Did we grow? Not only is that way more productive towards garnering improvement, it forces me to be more intelligent and less emotional about all of this. Progress isn’t linear. Riding will ALWAYS be full of ups and downs. This sport is ridiculously hard. Shit happens. None of it defines who I am, or who my horse is. For me it’s been incredibly important to learn to handle the emotions, and to always remember to keep perspective. Part of that has come with me sitting down, scraping all the way down to my core, and understanding what success really means to me. It’s not blue ribbons and accolades, it’s betterment. I want to be a better horseman and rider. Period. Full stop. And show results have absolutely no impact on that.

The biggest thing, of course, is that I’ve realized that I get to CHOOSE how I feel about any of this. Instead of going “omg I fell off I must be such a loser and I suck and I don’t belong here and what a waste of time” – which is really just you being controlled by your emotions in the moment – I get to say “well that wasn’t what I wanted but what was good about this experience and what did we learn?”. It is 100% within our own power to decide how we look at things and how we feel about them. Realizing that was not only incredibly liberating, it’s also made me a better rider. I’m more patient with myself and my horse, and better at seeing and pursuing the things that are best for both of us in the long run.

The other big thing, for me, is having a spirit of gratitude. The simple act of appreciation completely changes how your brain is firing (for real, it’s a true story). The negatives quickly start to fall away. It’s easy to forget, in the day-in-day-out drudgery, just how lucky we are to do this. All of this is such a privilege, something that could be taken away at any moment. I don’t want to waste one second of it being bitter or negative, especially about things I have no control over. The best way for me to do that? Practicing gratitude.

I’m grateful to my horse for taking me places I never thought I would get to go. I’m grateful for the relationship we have and how hard he’s willing to try for me even when I’m not much help to him. I’m grateful for the circumstances in my life that have allowed me to find ways to afford to do this. I’m grateful to the people around me that support us, and are invested in our journey. I’m grateful to the team of professionals that keep my horse feeling his best. I’m grateful to the people that spend countless hours organizing and putting on horse shows, to allow us to participate in the sport we love. I’m grateful that I get to leave a horse show with a healthy horse and healthy rider, so that we can go home and work on all the things we learned and, hopefully, try again another day. When I really sit down and think about it, the list of things I’m grateful for could go on for a really really really long time. It’s overwhelming.

The morning that I went out on cross country at Coconino is the same morning that news broke of Ashley Stout’s accident, which claimed her life and that of her horse. She was doing everything right, and still, tragedy struck. The same could be true of any of us on any given day, whether it’s on the back of a horse or in a car accident or some random health problem that we never saw coming. And then we remember how incredibly fragile our horses are too… they come and go from our lives all too quickly and easily. As I’ve gotten older it’s become more important to be grateful for everything we get to do, and everything that my horses give me, even if some things don’t end the way I might have wanted. There will come a day, for all of us, when we don’t get to do this anymore. Even my worst day on a horse is better than my best day without them.

I think that sometimes we get so bogged down in the intricacies and goals and plans that we lose touch with that 10yo girl inside of us that just freakin loved ponies. Loved being around them, loved watching them, loved brushing them, and went to sleep with a smile on her face just because she got to pet a horse that day. That kid is still inside all of us, and that kid is why we really do this. To her, show results and bad rides don’t matter. She’s just thrilled to be there, doing what she loves with her favorite horse. I’ve lost sight of that kid before, and I never want to lose sight of her again.

I also never want to be bitter, whiny, or entitled about any of this. I’ve always thanked volunteers, but over the past several shows I’ve made it my goal to seek out organizers to thank them as well. Without them our sport wouldn’t exist. They make facilities available to us, they organize shows, they put in hours and hours of their time, and usually the only real feedback they get is the negative kind. The poor show secretary (that I sought out to thank for being so flexible and accommodating when I changed my entry TWICE) looked absolutely terrified until she realized we weren’t there to yell at her, and then seemed blown away when we thanked her instead. It kind of made me sad.

What I’ve noticed, in talking to them, is that for the most part everyone is genuinely trying to do the best they can. Just like us (the riders) organizers don’t always make the right decisions or do the right things, because they’re human after all, but they’re trying. They deserve to be acknowledged for that, especially if we want them to continue slaving away for our sport. And if we want to offer constructive feedback, it almost always works better when it’s prefaced by a genuine thank you for all the things that DID go right. In the process of talking to all these people, there were great conversations encompassing all sorts of aspects of the show, from footing to courses to format, and all the positives and negatives of each. I gained more perspective, more gratitude, and in turn made my own experience feel more positive. It’s a win-win. And it all started with a simple thank you.

So if you’re struggling or frustrated or upset, maybe try making contact with that inner 10yo kid who just loved horses. Look for the positive. Thank someone. What are you grateful for? I also challenge you to ask yourself what success truly means to you… you might find that it changes your perspective completely.

You know that expression “sometimes you’re the bug, and sometimes you’re the windshield”? On stadium day I was most definitely the bug. I went splat.

I was heading into showjumping in first place, after our clear cross country. We walked the course that morning, and while there were a lot of jumps in a small space, the course wasn’t anything particularly crazy. We’ve jumped A LOT of prelim rounds by now, between schooling shows and jumper rounds and HT’s, and never had much problem. I don’t like stadium, but I tend to not lose sleep over it. I just wanted to stay on and jump the jumps in the right order.

You see where this is going, right?

Anyway, when we were walking the course, the thing I was most concerned about was the footing. It had rained a lot the afternoon before, and I was kind of shocked at how inconsistent the arena felt, and how wet the corners still were. They had sealed the surface, but not dragged it, so big clumps of mud kind of just sat all over the place. Parts of it were fine, but other parts were very squishy.

I assumed that it would dry up quite a bit more in the hour before we went now that the sun was out, and that they’d drag it, so I didn’t worry too much about it. Warmup was fine, and we went up to the gate with one person to go ahead of us. Said person had a very hard time turning, cruising past a few fences before getting eliminated. Hmm. That’s a little concerning from an experienced Prelim pair. That’s when I noticed that they hadn’t dragged the arena.

So I went in, picked up my canter, and immediately did not like how the footing felt in the first turn. My horse doesn’t handle mud very well at all, and you can always feel a change in him as soon as he hits it. But we cantered out of the turn, hit the dryer part in the middle, and all was well again. Henry cantered down to the first single oxer and pinged off the ground fantastically.

I had juuuust enough time to think “wow he’s jumping really well” before we got to the next corner and he started slipping. Slipping, slipping, slipping, as if in slow motion. He caught himself, slipped again, tripped, and basically fishtailed around the corner. Nothing I tried seemed to help. I briefly thought about making a circle but didn’t see anywhere to go that would be any better. He stayed on his feet, but we careened up to the next fence basically sideways and still slipping, and he tried his best to jump it anyway. I went waaaaaay up in the air and then straight into the ground. Just like that – rider fall.

So… that sucked. I got up and walked out with him, but poor Henry was definitely a bit rattled that I had come off. They always escort you to the medic after a fall, and when I walked away, leaving Henry with Hillary and my trainer, he got very concerned about why I was leaving and where I was going. We found the EMT (who was asleep in his backseat), he asked me if I was okay, I said yes I landed on my hip in the mud, and he told me to come back if I started feeling bad. Henry was physically okay, thank god, but it took him a couple hours to return to his normal personality. He was clearly rattled by the whole thing.

I was disappointed for our show to end that way, mostly because the first two phases were so great. I thought my horse really deserved the completion, and to have something so ridiculous happen was a bummer. However… that’s horse showing. Especially eventing. Sometimes things go your way, and sometimes they don’t. Should they have dragged the arena earlier? Yes. They stopped and dragged after my division, and the footing was much improved. But I know they did what they thought was the right thing at the time (new footing was just put into this arena recently and they really weren’t sure the best thing to do with it when it was wet)… it just didn’t work out in my favor. The horses with a more up and down, slower-legged way of going didn’t have too much problem with it, but the flatter-moving, faster-legged horses seemed to really struggle to find purchase and jump out of it. Mine wasn’t the only one.

While it was disappointing to miss out on the win (although to be fair, no one finished Prelim, soooo), I can’t be too upset. My horse was just so good the whole time, and we learned a lot, and grew our confidence a ton. The pieces are slowly coming together. The way it ended in no way takes away from everything else, and I was still smiling about that XC round. Maybe next year we can go back and seek redemption, but for now, I’m not too worried about it. Coconino was still a major success in my book, and remains one of my favorite shows. We had a great time!

I’m not really even sure how to start this recap post. Henry gave me what can only be described as the ride of my life on cross country that day, and I’m struggling to find the words to describe it. Was it foot perfect? No. There were a couple spots where I messed up, and he saved it, and there were a couple spots where he didn’t quite get it, and I helped him out. He was bold, he was focused, he was looking for the flags and taking me to the jumps… it felt like a real partnership, and I was sitting on a really confident horse that was absolutely on fire for his job. I’m not sure that it gets much better than that.

They changed the course a bit after week 1, particularly the second water and a new coffin. Yeah… they built a new coffin. As in, they were still digging the (massive) hole for the ditch the night before XC. The changes made those questions more challenging than they’d been the first week, and I was a little concerned about both, since they ended up being questions that Henry and I hadn’t quite seen before.

I’ll be honest, when I walked the course beforehand, I didn’t have the balls to look all the jumps in the eye. Some of them were really big, and I had to shield my eyes a bit when I walked past a few. There are some things I just don’t need to know before I mount up. It took me a while to be able to look the Training fences “in the eye” on the ground too, and I’m not quite there yet with some of the Prelim. Everything looks so much smaller and more doable from the back of a horse as you’re galloping towards it.

But I did go back out there that afternoon with Hillary and make myself look at them, especially the width. It’s a confidence boost to know how easily Henry hopped over them, even if they still look big to me. I took pictures of some of the jumps then, too, since I hadn’t done my usual course walk with pictures before. And I think that worked out for the best, because I got to use Hillary and her dogs for scale, which was fun. Especially since her face in most of these pictures looks horrified.

That was most of the more interesting jumps, anyway. Well except for the one big gross log oxer in the back that I was too lazy to walk back out to for a photo.

The footing at Coconino is interesting, being mostly wood chips. It’s not like anything else we ever run on, especially around here. You’re never quite sure how it’s going to feel to jump out of, but it felt pretty good under my horse’s feet once we got going. You do spend some time on your course walks very carefully plotting your course to avoid stray stumps or rocky patches, but they’ve done a lot with the footing since I was there last in 2016.

I didn’t wear a watch, mostly because we just aren’t to the point yet where time is a consideration. We still need to focus on the jumps first and foremost, and I don’t want to find myself worrying or feeling pressured about the time. It’s a distraction I don’t need yet. Especially for this course, which was definitely the most challenging we’ve faced, and very twisty and turny and up and down. I needed to focus on balance, not speed.

My helmet camera died the second I turned it on, so… I don’t have footage from that perspective. I did have barnmates scattered throughout the course though, so got a decent amount of video!

Henry set off from the box like a man on a mission, landing from fence 1 and digging in, already wanting to go forward and searching for 2. It was at this point that I thought to myself “this might be just fine after all”. When a horse leaves the box like that, it definitely boosts your confidence a bit. He pinged over the trakehner at 3, jumping HUGE over it and landing in a gallop that was pulling me up the hill to the coop at 4, then back down the hill to the wagon, which he also jumped the shit out of. Yup, he was definitely in the mood to play.

I checked my whoa before the water at 6, wanting to make sure he didn’t just blast through there. It was the first combo and I wanted to ride it a bit quietly, since we had many more combos to go and I needed him to stay rideable. He was really good there, hopping through it politely and easily.

Then it was down to the Weldon’s Wall, which had a really wonky approach. Nothing like weaving through trees and then having to turn sharply a few strides before a wide gallop fence. I completely botched the distance there, 110% awful, but Henry just stuffed another stride in and packed my ass right over. There are not enough cookies in the world for this creature, y’all. He earned a whole box of them at that jump alone.

After that was our wide skinny table

which he galloped right up to the base of and pinged over like it was Beginner Novice. This horse has more scope than I give him credit for, I think.

Then we weaved around to our first corner combination at 9AB. The jumps there were not that big, at or close to Training height really, but the approach made the line pretty tricky. You came off of a very long gallop, then had to hang a sharp right hand turn around some trees with just a few straight strides before the corner. Week 1 I watched someone have two runouts here because the horse didn’t get his eye on the corner out of the turn, so I knew I needed to take it seriously. I brought Henry waaaaaay back down to a showjump canter and carefully picked my line to make sure we were straight.

As soon as he got his eye on the corner he took me right to it, then down and back up the hill to the coop. It was no problem. After that we had a long gallop to a skinny cabin and then a smaller brush fence (which I again missed the distance to and Henry was like “hold my beer”. Get him more cookies.) before heading down to the second water. Of all the things on course, I was most nervous about this and the coffin. The water because the approach to the first jump was SO SHORT, you literally had two straight strides off a sharp turn for them to even see the jump in, and I definitely wasn’t sure that he would get his eye on the corner out. There were a lot of jumps back there, it was visually quite busy, and we’ve never done a corner out of water before. I rode the first element slightly right so I could exaggerate the bend a little bit and get him straighter to the corner, and it rode freaking brilliantly.

Like… he was foot perfect. He saw the corner as soon as we jumped in, and he locked right on, never wavering from the line. It was a pretty amazing feeling, and I hope I never forget how that felt. I could have stopped and gone home right then and there and felt like we’d won. There is nothing so thrilling to me as feeling a horse come into his own and really love and understand the job. I rode away from that water with a smile on my face.

But I didn’t really have a lot of time to think about it, in the moment, because we had a gallop up the hill to that big disgusting vomit-inducing double brush table. That thing did not look any smaller from horseback, but I just kept coming to the base and let Henry sort it out, which he did perfectly, while I tried to stay out of his way. He jumped it so freaking hard, I don’t even think he touched the brush. More cookies. So many piles of cookies. I had to settle for lots of big pats at the time.

After that we had the combination of skinny tables, which also rode really well. Easy, by this point. He just kept looking for the flags, and all I really had to do was guide the way and keep him balanced.

Then it was the big oxer out in the back, which you can’t really see behind the tree.

And then it was time for the coffin. I distinctly remember galloping to the crest of that hill and starting our downhill approach, thinking to myself “Do not fuck this up. Do not fuck this up. Do not fuck this up.”. Our fall at Holly Hill was at a downhill coffin, and I really didn’t want to repeat that. I heard my trainers instructions in my head – balance at the top of the hill, then keep coming – so I did… then I rode down to that thing and attacked it like it had personally done something to me.

Henry jumped the hanging log in and I could feel him quickly assessing, looking for the out. I gave him a bit of verbal encouragement over the ditch, where he was still trying to figure out where the out was. I had to sit and tug a little, but he finally locked on and hopped over C. It was a bit scrappy but we got it done.

I found out later that a barnmate’s husband was down at the coffin helping the course designer rake the landing of the ditch after each horse, and when I jumped through, the course designer said “that’s the way it’s SUPPOSED to be ridden!”. Which was a really nice compliment to get. He stopped what he was doing to watch us go up the hill and jump the Normandy Bank, too (which felt more like a little gymnastic by this point).

After that we flew over the last rolltop and through the finish flags with a clear round! I was slow, as expected, so picked up 10 time faults, but we were the only Prelim pair to jump around clear. The second water and the coffin wreaked some havoc.

I can’t even put into words how proud I am of this horse. He tried so hard for me, was absolutely brilliant, so genuine, and really rose to the challenge. He jumped some big fences and challenging combinations without so much as a second thought, and any lingering doubts I had beforehand about our ability to do this were completely erased. I still have to pinch myself a bit when I stop and think about what we’re doing, actually DOING, and how it so vastly exceeds anything I thought we could ever achieve. It doesn’t seem real. This kind of partnership is what it’s all about, and these moments are the reason why we keep putting in the work, day in and day out. I’ll be riding that high for a long time.